


Variations on a Chara

by AMX004_Qubeley



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chara Has Their Own Body, Clone Shenanigans, Every possible alignment of Chara, Evil Chara, Gen, Glitch Chara, Good Old Fashioned Ultra Violence, Horror Comedy, Infinite variations of Chara Dreemurr, Murder, Narrator Chara, No Mercy Chara - Freeform, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Evil Chara, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Pretty much every Chara you can imagine, This fic is that one scene from Community of Troy walking in with the pizza and everythings on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMX004_Qubeley/pseuds/AMX004_Qubeley
Summary: In hindsight, it was probably unwise to host the First Annual Chara Convention in a knife factory.Alternate titles:Too Many CharasA Fistful of CharasThe Stabby BunchCrisis on Infinite CharasCharaunknown's BattlegroundsHouse of 1,000 CharasIt's a Stab, Stab, Stab, Stab WorldChara: Infinity WarOops! All CharasDedicated to BadFriedman, who came up with nearly half of these titles and now refuses to speak to me





	Variations on a Chara

There are parts of the world where reality bleeds a bit thin, places where time twists in a Mobius loop, places where cause follows effect and here is further away from you than there, places where a second stretches on for miles and miles whiz by in seconds, shadow realms and void spaces beneath the ground and above the sky separating one tributary in the river of time from another.

There are pinholes, leaks in the dam of existence where the choices you make in one world bleed into the next. There are great gushing geysers of time spurting out into the universe and spewing never-weres and never-will-bes. There are places where things not of earthly comprehension can crawl and slither and plop into our world.

And there are border checkpoints.

Finding these spaces is hard. Getting them to behave is harder. Figuring out how to send a message to a specific person on the other side is harder still. But Chara had done it.

Oh yeah, and Sans had helped. Somehow. He was like the fairies who would darn socks and cobble shoes for medieval peasants in the dead of night. You never saw him so much as lift a finger no matter how carefully you watched him, but he always turned in his results on time. He was like that with all five of his jobs. Given Sans' strange and unfortunate case of Schrodinger's Work Ethic, Chara hoped he wouldn't mind them taking all the credit. In fact, it was probably all for the best if Chara took all the credit. Chara was actually being quite magnanimous in shouldering all the responsibility if this didn't quite work out.

* * *

_One Half-Hour Until the First Annual Chara Convention_

 5:23 PM. The time was drawing near, and much to their chagrin, Chara wasn't nearly ready.

In their bathroom, under a row of bright lights, a scattered collection of makeup lay strewn across the countertop. An orange ceramic pot with a single large yellow flower sat on the edge. Chara leaned close to the mirror, peering into their own scarlet eyes and looking at their face from every angle.

Holding the dull back edge of a knife to the corner of their left eye, they drew a perfectly-straight line with eyeliner, swooping back to fill in a perfect wing. They'd tried the front edge of the knife once, hoping it would result in a sharper, fiercer wing. They had been extremely wrong and had a little bumpy scar over their right eyelid to prove it. Being a ghost for so long, Chara had almost forgotten what it was like to bleed; while they wouldn't trade having a body of their own for anything in the world (Frisk had no interest in makeup, for one, and as they were growing older their headspace was getting increasingly cramped and crowded), corporeality had its downsides.

 _It'd be nice to be made of dust and magic instead of meat and water,_ Chara thought, as they often thought.

"Hey."

Chara tugged at their eyelid, assessed the fine job they did, and moved onto their right eye, carefully positioning the knife.

"Hey, Chara."

Trying very hard to keep their hand from trembling, Chara began to draw a perfectly straight line, guided by the knife, their face's reflection bouncing from the bathroom mirror to the shining stainless steel blade and back to the mirror, reflecting one eye into infinity.

_"Chara!"_

A magical pellet careened into Chara's temple, knocking the knife from their hand and sending it clattering to the linoleum. The hand with the eyeliner pen went way off course, finishing up somewhere within the whorls of Chara's right ear. _"Ow! What?"_

Flowey the Flower, the artist formerly known as Prince Asriel Dreemurr, danced a little jig in his pot, a shit-eating grin plastered on the face framed by his yellow petals. "Contour _that."_

Chara grumbled, assessing the damage the crooked black scar had done. "Why," they sighed, "do I put up with you?"

"Because..." Flowey's eyes grew watery. "I'm your darling little adoptive brother, and you _looooove_ me."

When Chara looked at Flowey, they could almost see the sensitive little goat boy who'd been willing to follow them to the ends of the Earth. When Chara saw that, Flowey would typically open his mouth and dispel that illusion in a hurry. But Frisk had taught Chara the importance of persistence, and Chara was determined to stick with Flowey in the hopes that maybe the vulgar, occasionally murderous flower would one day return to being Asriel Dreemur, or at least something that occasionally acted like Asriel Dreemurr.

Chara thought it was working. After all, Flowey had been here for nearly fifteen minutes with Chara and this was the first time he'd tried to injure them. And the pellet hadn't even broken the skin! Progress was being made, Progress with a capital "P," even if it had taken nearly three years since the Barrier had come down. Frisk would be proud.

Chara dabbed away the errant eyeliner with a towelette and did their best to erase it, working more foundation over the skin. It looked a little bruised, but it would have to do. The Convention was coming up, and Chara still needed to pick out an outfit.

Chara sighed. "What do you think, Flowey? Dapper Chara or Classic Chara?" _Dapper Chara_ was the crushed velvet suit. _Classic Chara_ was the lime-green and lemon-yellow striped sweater.

"You want to _intimidate_ them, right?" Flowey asked. "Go naked."

"Ugh."

"Yeah, you're right. You want to show dominance, not make them lose their lunch."

Chara stood up and left the bathroom, flicking off all the lights.

"Wait!" The door swung shut behind Flowey. "H-hey! Put me back on the windowsill before you go!"

Chara strode down the hall. "Frisk!"

Their counterpart's voice echoed from the living room. _"Hey, Chara!"_

"Dapper Chara or Classic Chara?" Chara called out.

_"What's the occasion?"_

"A convention!"

_"What kind of convention?"_

"A... uh..." Chara paused. "Um, a trade show?"

"Chara Dreemurr!" A giant furry paw grabbed them by the ear, forcing Chara to wince. The paw belonged to Toriel Dreemurr, Chara's adoptive mother and former Queen of the Monster Kingdom. "Please do not shout in the house. It is not--" She paused, looked down at them, and suppressed a grimace. "Chara, what have you done to your face?"

"I _contoured_ it, Mom." Chara had hoped it would make them look older, more distinguished, and more imperious for the conventiongoers. They gave Toriel a roguish smile. "How's the eyeliner? Fierce?"

Toriel let them go. "You did not use a knife again, did you?"

"No!" Chara lied, injecting a heaping helping of scandalized how-dare-you-accuse-little-old-me into their voice. "I used Dad's credit card."

"Why do you have... Asgore's credit card?" There was always a very heavy pause preceding the name of Toriel's ex-husband when she said it. It was a pause where a curse might have gone.

Chara shrugged.

"Never mind. I am going to pretend you did not tell me that." Toriel patted Chara on the head and mussed their hair. "Good. I would hate to see a child of mine lose an eye."

Chara sighed in relief. One hurdle cleared. Now it was time to--

"Are you going on a date?" Toriel asked, and Chara's pale face flushed pink.

"N-no, it's a convention," they stammered.

"Oh, like the ones Undyne and her wife go to?" Toriel's eyes sparkled. "How exciting! Are you 'costume-playing' anybody?"

"Not _that_ kind of convention."

"Oh. Is it one of those conventions where humans dress up like colorful animals? Do you have a 'furry sona'?"

"Um."

"May I see it?"

"No. It's an, er..." Chara blanked on the right word. "A meeting of like-minded individuals."

"Well, if you wish to impress your like-minded individuals..." Toriel patted Chara on the shoulder. "I would suggest the velvet, my child."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Take care."

"I will, Mom."

"Keep your phone turned on."

"Yes, Mom."

"Don't let anybody pour drinks for you."

"Yes, Mom." This was getting tedious.

"Don't go home with anybody who is older than you."

"I won't, Mom." Chara was getting impatient, and it started to show in their voice. "Mom, please, I'm in a hurry..."

"Oh, right! How silly of me." Toriel planted a kiss on Chara's cheek. "I love you, dear."

"I know."

* * *

_Zero Hours into the First Annual Chara Convention_

The convention started off promising enough. There was plenty of space on the convention floor, and soon it was full of Charas. A very, very large number of Charas of all shapes and sizes, some quite similar to the Chara of this timeline, some radically different. None cut quite as much a dashing, debonair, devilishly handsome figure as Chara, or as they referred to themselves for the sake of lessening confusion, Chara Prime.

The first few Charas to arrive were just like Chara. They came from timelines that were nearly identical, and seeing them was like looking in a mirror.

"You know," said Chara Prime, sampling the hors-d'oeuvres they'd set out, "It is so nice--"

"--To talk to people--"

"--Who can all finish each other's sentences!"

"Yes!" Chara Prime pumped their fist in the air. "Finally--"

"--Some intelligent conversation!" The three of them said in unison.

Chara Prime stuck a strawberry on a toothpick and placed it under a bubbling miniature geyser of melted chocolate. "Care for some chocolate fondue, Chara?"

Chara plucked out a crispy popped-rice treat. "Why, thank you, Chara. Don't mind if I do." The Chara by their side picked one out as well and dipped it in the smoothly-flowing brown waterfall.

"What about you, Chara?" Chara Prime asked, motioning to the one who'd abstained.

Chara shook their head. "Oh, no, not me. I'm allergic to chocolate."

Chara Prime crossed their arms. "I think you should leave."

Chara left.

Those were only the first few Charas to show up. Soon more arrived, most far less in-sync with Chara Prime's timeline but still enjoyable enough company. Mingling with them demanded all of Chara Prime's attention.

Most Charas differed only by minute amounts, but the ones who were radically different caught Chara's eye. There was the version of Chara who'd become a flower instead of Asriel. There was the version of Chara who looked just like Asriel, except with sandy brown fur--they had come from a world where the roles of humans and monsters had been switched, with Chara (a monster runaway) falling into the exiled Kingdom of Humans. One Chara had an eyepatch, and Chara Prime wondered if they'd lost it doing their eyeliner, as Toriel had often predicted. All of the Charas were all over the map when it came to gender expression, but nearly all of them had brown hair and scarlet eyes. Some things, it seemed, were universal constants.

While mingling, Chara Prime bumped into an alternate Chara who gave them quite a fright. They stood there with wide, blank, and utterly pitch-black eyes, black goop running down their cheeks.

"Uhh..." said Chara Prime. They pulled out a napkin. "Tissue?"

The strange, glitched Chara opened their mouth. Radio static the color of an old TV tuned to a dead channel poured out, accompanied by the sound of an ancient dial-up modem.

"Um." Chara Prime patted the glitch on the shoulder. Their hand came away sticky with what looked like chunky, melting pixels. "Nice to meet you." They sauntered off, wiping the inexplicable chunks of cyberspace off their palm with their napkin.

As they made their way as far from the walking video game creepypasta as possible, Chara Prime bumped into yet another unnerving copy of themselves. This one stood in the corner, watching the room with the eye of a predator.

"Hi," said Chara Prime.

The strange Chara looked right through them and said nothing.

"Have you tried the chocolate cake yet?" Chara asked, gesturing over to the long table they'd stocked with so many chocolate morsels and desserts. They made a note in their head to thank Muffet for her generous donation. It was very sustainable and eco-friendly chocolate, produced for spiders, by spiders, out of spiders. But Chara Prime swore it tasted _just_ like the real thing.

"I prefer dust," the strange Chara said.

For once, Chara Prime was completely and utterly at a loss for words. Finally, the one phrase they squeaked out was, "Please leave."

The strange Chara did and about-face and walked away, and Chara sighed in relief.

* * *

_One Hour into the First Annual Chara Convention_

The guests were mingling nicely. Most Charas got along. A few of them clustered in the corner, chatting among themselves in hushed and conspiratorial whispers.

* * *

_One and a Half Hours into the First Annual Chara Convention_

The Charas who had clustered together had found a large map of Earth and pinned it up on the wall, and often referred to it. Chara Prime had a very nice discussion with another Chara about _Macbeth_ until they found out this Chara came from a reality where Christopher Marlowe had written Shakespeare's plays. The other Chara was politely asked to leave.

* * *

_Two Hours into the First Annual Chara Convention_

Chara Prime listened in on the conspiratorial Charas and found them to be plotting an invasion of the state of Florida. Chara Prime left them to their own devices, not sure they approved but admiring the cabal of Charas' gumption nonetheless.

The convention ran out of chocolate.

* * *

_Three Hours into the First Annual Chara Convention_

 Chara Prime ducked under the hors-d'ouvres table, gritting their teeth in pain as they clutched at the black stain spreading on their velvet slacks. Their femoral artery hadn't been nicked, thank goodness, but the slice through their thigh still _hurt._ It had been two years since they'd been in a fight--a fight for their life, anyway--and the rustiness showed. _"Damn,"_ they hissed through gritted teeth, crawling on the floor as the convention hall erupted into chaos around them.

Another Chara dove over the table, throwing a knife across the hall and hitting one of the dozens of other Charas in the room right in the eye. Another errant knife whizzing through the air caught them across the throat, sending a spray of scarlet blood into the air.

As the slit-throat Chara crumpled to the floor, Chara Prime grabbed at the hem of their skirt and ripped a long swatch of cloth from it, tying it tight around their leg wound. The fabric was red, which soaked up the blood nicely.

Chara Prime wished they'd had a red suit to wear. But at least red blood turned green fabric black, and black wasn't such a bad color. It went with everything, after all.

Chara Prime crawled under the table, lifting the floor-length white tablecloth to get in. Unfortunately, another Chara had found the spot first and was not willing to share. And they had a knife. _Everyone,_ it seemed, had a knife, except for Chara Prime.

Chara Prime let the tablecloth fall and skittered back, their injured thigh still stinging. _I thought they'd all be like me,_ they thought, panic buzzing around their head as they stumbled over a corpse that looked quite a bit like them. _I've been so foolish._

A furry hand grabbed them and lifted them off their feet, pinning Chara Prime to the wall. It was the furry Chara, fangs bared, a knife in their other hand, scarlet eyes burning red as blood. _"I need your soul,_ _"_ they hissed. _"Let me take it! We'll be together, we'll be_ strong, _we_ have _to be strong to stop--"_

Chara Prime had no interest in giving up their soul. They'd only just gotten it! As their breath caught in their throat, they tried to remember Undyne's self-defense training. As the knife dug into their throat, Chara Prime lashed out with their legs, kicking at the furry Chara's solar plexus. The monster-Chara went down wheezing, the knife clattering to the floor. Chara Prime slumped to the floor and reached out for the knife just as their foe did, and the two of them grappled for it.

 _I don't want to die,_ Chara Prime thought, the faces of their friends and family flashing before their eyes. _I didn't come here to bleed to death on the floor!_

At last, Chara Prime wrenched the knife free and scored a hit on the monster-Chara's chest. Their scarlet eyes widened in surprise, their mouth agape in shock, and in a matter of seconds the monster collapsed into a pile of gray dust.

Chara Prime took halting, shallow breaths, too nervous to take anything deeper, and with trembling fingers picked up the knife. "D-Dammit, I r-really liked you..."

* * *

_Three and a Half Hours into the First Annual Chara Convention_

Chara Prime lay sprawled on the floor, trying as hard as possible not to breathe, while death stalked the convention center.

In the lab, Sans had occasionally spoke of timelines that looped endlessly, timelines that curled and twisted before continuing on straight, and timelines that just... ended. As if the multiverse was being stalked by a god of death who pruned the tree of existence, lopping off timelines like dead or diseased branches.

As luck would have it, that god of death had attended Chara Prime's interdimensional soiree.

The last Chara standing stepped across the bodies in their path, shoes squeaking against the puddles of blood on the floor. They cast a glance across the room, sniffing the room. "I know you're out there," they said, as dispassionately as a Terminator.

Chara Prime's breath was growing stale in their chest. Their lungs were burning. How much longer could they keep this up? A minute, maybe, before their brain started to shut down?

"I can smell you breathing."

 _"You idiot!"_ Another Chara burst out from under the table, dual-wielding steak knives as they pounced on the murderous Terminator-Chara. _"You can't_ smell _someone breathing, dumba--":_

A knife flew from the Terminator-Chara's hand and caught them right in the throat. The dual-wielding Chara let both knifes clatter to the floor and grasped at their neck, blood blossoming between their fingers and spilling down their shirt, gurgling as they sank to the floor.

The last Chara standing watched them go down. They gazed slowly across the room as if scanning it. "One left," they said.

 _They'll wait for me._ The thought was nearly enough to make Chara Prime release their breath and give up. _I can't outlast them. It's kill or be killed._ They suppressed the urge to laugh, and before they could force down the intrusive thought that had sparked that laugh, they finished it: _I should've brought Flowey with me._

Chara Prime nearly let a squeak out of their mouth, but forced it back down, trying very hard not to move.

And then, at the worst of all possible moments, their phone's ringtone went off. _I Can't Believe My Catgirl Maid Girlfriend Is This Cute,_ the image song to _Mew Mew Kissy Cutie 3,_ courtesy of Doctor Alphys' tinkering.

It was, Chara Prime admitted, a catchy tune.

Chara Prime burst out laughing, a giddy wheeze of a laugh as they expelled the stale air filling their lungs and, reflexively, sucked in fresh air to replace it. The miasma began to clear from their mind. The burning pain subsided, withdrawing from their chest and head to dwell only on the gash across their thigh.

They were doomed.

Terminator-Chara strode at a brisk pace toward them as Chara Prime scrabbled to their feet, limping on their injured leg. With the killer inching closer, Chara Prime clutched at the corner of the buffet table, tearing off the tablecloth and leaving them with a long, ungainly sheet of stained white wool pooling at their feet as everything that had once been on the table clattered to the floor. It could serve as an impromptu burial shroud... or a distraction.

Chara Prime flung the tablecloth at their attacker. The wad of heavy fabric unfolded in midair and enveloped the other Chara, momentarily occupying them as they tore through it with their knife. Chara Prime grabbed the steak knives lying on the floor, threw one--it flew like a brick and missed by a mile. With the other one Chara Prime dashed at Terminator-Chara, right into the jaws of the lion, flipped the knife to an icepick grip, and drove it at their back.

At the last second Terminator-Chara freed themselves from the tangled sheet and whirled around, nearly dodging Chara Prime's strike...

_Nearly._

Blood gushed from the wound in the murderous one's side. Terminator-Chara's knife cut a shallow wound across Chara Prime's cheek, the knife's blade an inch away from puncturing their eye.

Both Charas collapsed, one bleeding like a stuck pig.

An eerie silence had descended over the building. Even Terminator-Chara didn't even whimper in pain, despite the severity of their wound.

"Why?" Chara asked.

"This is how you play games," the doppelganger said, so matter-of-factly it was as if they thought the answer was obvious. Then the light went out of their scarlet eyes and their body froze in its splayed-out position on the floor.

Chara took deep, shuddering breaths as their homicidal doppelganger's life ebbed away less than a foot away from them. They looked around the convention center. The ceramic remains of a pot mixed with loamy soil and strewn with leaves and petals lay smeared across the floor in a mostly-brown streak. In the center of the room was a bubbling mess of garbled pixels oozing black fluid.

"Anyone else alive?" Chara called out. Their voice echoed back to them as it bounced off the walls and ceiling. "No? Just me?" They staggered to their feet, leaning against the defaced table for support as they caught their breath. "Okay. I'm not cleaning up. See you next year, friends."

* * *

_One Hour After the First Annual Chara Convention_

Toriel was, regrettably, waiting for Chara when they came home.

She screamed when she saw them.

"It's okay, Mom," Chara reassured her, spattered and dripping with blood, their emerald-green crushed velvet suit stained and blackened. "Just a few nicks and scratches."

As the scream in Toriel's throat dwindled to a hoarse nothing, she clasped her paws over her open mouth in shock and horror, her furry face frozen in anguish.

"Almost none of it's mine. Technically," Chara hastily added.

After being scrubbed down, bandaged up, and checked for any signs of a concussion, dodging Toriel's frantic questioning all the while, Chara was sent directly to bed. They were grounded. _Very_ grounded. _Extremely_ grounded, in fact. By Chara's estimates, they'd see the sunlight again just in time for the sun to age into a red giant and burn the planet to a cinder.

Chara sighed as they convalesced on the top bunk, not looking forward to their various aches and pains setting in. They'd feel a lot worse tomorrow morning.

The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway. "Chara?" Frisk asked.

"Mrgh."

"Are you okay?"

"Mmph."

"Do you mind if I turn the light on?"

"Blgh."

"Does that mean 'yes'?"

"Pgrbl."

Frisk flicked the light switch and the ceiling light blazed on; Chara squeezed their eyes shut as the light stabbed through their eyelids with a soft orange-pink glow. They took a seat on the bottom bunk. "So," they said, "a 'meeting of like-minded individuals'?"

Chara took a very, very deep sigh, letting it inflate their lungs to bursting and permeate their aching body from their migraine-stricken head to their aching toes. "You know," they told Frisk, "maybe I'm not as much of a narcissist as I thought."

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  And that Chara who survived grew up to be... Albert Einstein


End file.
